Waiting to Take Your Hand
by shadowfood
Summary: An accidental pregnancy, and the effects it has on House, Cuddy, and their relationship. Set during season 7.
1. promise land

_Author Notes: Occurs in season 7, before 'Bombshells'. Or perhaps as an alternative to 'Bombshells'. Title and chapter headings are lyrics from the song 'Get Happy'._

* * *

1.

He's in Cuddy's bed, with Cuddy, one of his favourite places to be.

It's late, and they're kissing lazily, lying on their sides. He's not really sure it's going to lead beyond kissing at this point; he knows she's tired and she put on full-length pyjamas to sleep in and that's usually a good indicator of how things will go at this point in the evening. He's not disappointed - they had a brusque bout of wake-up sex this morning and knows there's every chance for a repeat performance once the alarm goes off in seven hours.

Still, he returns her slow, warm kisses with his own and touches her in a half-interested, willing-to-engage-further fashion because he loves touching her, always. Still marvels at times that she lets him. Will always take any and all opportunities to do so. Her body feels divine whether the pyjamas come off or not, one palm full of an ass cheek, the other wrapped under her back and curving over the dip in her waist.

She hums a little in enjoyment, sliding a knee up to hook over his hip. It's really all the encouragement he needs and his hand slides up her torso to cover her breast. The hum takes on a hint of disapproval and she pushes his hand back down. He takes it as his cue to back off so she can roll over, switch off the lamp, and say goodnight.

But she doesn't do that. She redirects the wandering hand back to her ass and presses closer, nuzzling under his jaw. It's a discrepancy in behaviour that might have been insignificant to any other man - especially with sex suddenly back on the table - but to him it's a red flag to the raging bull of his restless intellect. As she nips at his Adam's apple and slides her hands under his t-shirt his mind races.

She wants sex; wants him to touch her. Doesn't want him touching her breast, though, and there are a limited number of reasons for why that would be. So he tries it again, this time with his hand under the soft flannel of her top and a little more gentle, testing her response as he lightly brushes the underside of the warm mound of flesh with just the pad of his thumb.

She sighs. Her hand presses against the middle of his back and her hips shift restlessly against his. He switches to the other breast, this time teasing his fingertips over her nipple, which gets a reaction. It's not altogether a bad one; a tiny hiss between her teeth and then she dislodges his hand by pushing him over onto his back so she can straddle him. Which he does not mind at all.

Still, even as she palms his growing erection it's not enough to forestall his question: "What's wrong with your boobs?"

"What?" she says distractedly, having shoved up his t-shirt to press kisses across his chest.

"They're sore."

"Um, a little I guess. My cycle, it happens." She slides her hand under his waistband to grip him firmly. There was a time that tactic would have worked, but he has been getting it on the regular now for a while and a hand on his junk isn't the automatic kill-switch for his brain it once was.

And he can still count. "It's the wrong time in your cycle for sore boobs."

"Do we have to talk about my cycle right now?"

He remembers seeing the maxi-pads out on the bathroom counter a week ago, but he'd been caught up in an intense and - for the four days it lasted - exciting medical mystery and so hadn't paid much attention to the interruption in their usual sexcapade schedule.

"You had your period last week, right?" he presses, and the hand emerges from his shorts so she can shift off him to sit at his side and start frowning.

"What's the problem, are you not in the mood or...? Because I have to be up early again in the morning."

It's an evasion and it only heightens his interest, and she really should know better than that if she wants to avoid the subject. But the truth is at times like this it doesn't matter how well she knows him - when she's put on the spot she gets defensive. Every time.

Another day, another bull, another red flag.

"No, I'm definitely in the mood. Continue to try distracting me with sex, I think it was working," he says.

"You know what, I'm really tired. Let's just go to sleep."

He shrugs. "Fine."

She eyes him suspiciously before moving to lie back down. She resettles the covers over them both, and is just about to reach for the lamp when he opens his mouth again.

"So you think you might be pregnant?"

He doesn't get the _what are you crazy?_ he was expecting. She just freezes, arm stretched out to the nightstand.

"I don't know." She lies back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, her face a blank mask.

He doesn't know what response he was expecting, but this is not it.

His mind scours the past few weeks, everything she has said or done that he can recall, examining every detail with new eyes. Everything slots into place and regardless that she didn't confirm it, now he knows.

She's been tired - more so than usual. She's been slightly evasive at times, not enough to register in the moment but now... Now she is lying beside him with sore breasts and that tight, expressionless expression, and he knows.

"You're _pregnant._ "

She looks guiltily over at him. "I might not be."

"And you're not surprised. How long have you known?"

"I _don't_ know. I had a suspicion. It might be nothing. I just - I missed a pill last month and didn't realise till days later, and that shouldn't even matter, the odds are so slim I could ever get - that I could ever conceive naturally. But then last week... my period was really light, just spotting really, and they are sometimes light but not _that_ light and… oh god, what if I am?"

"You are. Your boobs are tender. You're exhausted. You skipped your withdrawal bleed. You should have started back on the active pills a couple days ago, but I haven't seen you taking them, which you wouldn't if you thought you might be pregnant. You haven't taken a test yet?"

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face. "I didn't want to know."

He is focused laser-sharp on her and her reactions and the words she is saying. Somewhere in the back of his brain there is the fact, like a ticking bomb, that she is almost certainly pregnant. _Pregnant._ But he's not thinking about that right now; there's just her and the immediate need to figure her out.

"What's wrong with you?" he says. "I know this is... unexpected, about as unexpected as it gets but... you 'didn't want to know'? Seriously?"

She avoids his eyes. He tries to work out what that look on her face means. He knows all of her looks, she has such an expressive face it's rare he can't tell what she's feeling at any given moment. But right now she just looks weary.

It's all wrong.

She's feeling _something_ , but he can't see it, which means she's hiding it from him, which means...

"You are not happy about this," he murmurs as the realisation hits him.

Her face flashes from impassive back to guilty in a second. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. If I am pregnant it's still really early, only a couple weeks since ovulation, and... I guess I was thinking you wouldn't have to know about it."

The words are a slap to the face. It actually shocks him how much it hurts. The level of pain is as surprising as what she just told him, and he's still reeling from the blow as she keeps right on talking.

"God, who was I kidding? Of course you noticed. You knew last time even though I only had morning sickness in the middle of the night and I wore my most confining bras even when my boobs were hurting like hell just so you wouldn't notice they were a little bigger. You kept making comments anyway, and I still don't know how you could really tell, I wasn't pregnant long enough to put on weight so -"

"You were glowing."

"What?"

"Happy. You must have just found out. I saw you smiling to yourself one day when you thought no one was looking. No reason for you to be smiling, but you were, like you had a secret. But then... I thought I must have been wrong."

"No, you were right."

He nods. Wilson had spilled that particular secret of hers at some point, about the miscarriage she'd had that somehow completely escaped his notice. He can't even remember why it came up.

He should have known about the miscarriage. He should have seen her devastation - because she must have been devastated, just like she had been after the failed adoption attempt.

"I never even got to see the heartbeat," she murmurs, and closes her eyes tight against whatever memory she's reliving.

He knows her journey to motherhood is inextricably bound up with crushing disappointment and pain as counterpoint to the happiness she found in her eventual success with Rachel. For him, it would never have been worth it. He avoids pain, he doesn't seek it out. But she is not him; she pushed through the painful times, and was rewarded with the baby she wanted so badly, and that is why he cannot understand what is happening right now, here in this bed.

They're both sitting up now, her with her head bowed, looking at her hands in her lap. Him leaning against the headboard, staring at her as he tries to work it out. "So, what? After all those years of drama over getting yourself a kid, you already got the perfect one so that's... enough?"

"What are you talking about?" She actually rolls her eyes as she asks, like she thinks he's being ridiculous.

"Were you seriously going to terminate and not even tell me about it?"

"What? House, I don't..."

He sits up and moves away to the side of the bed. He needs to get up and get out of here. When she moves after him and grabs onto his arm, he stays where he is with his feet on the floor but resists her attempts to get him to look at her.

"House I don't know what you're talking about but I'm not intending to abort. Why would you think that?"

"Well you weren't going to tell me - if you weren't going to get rid of it then I'm pretty sure I would notice that you had a baby, you know, eventually. At least by the time it learned to talk. Rachel never shuts up - I'd sometimes like to be unaware of her existence but it's literally impossible."

"House... Come on, you - you don't really think I can carry to term, do you? This isn't - it won't last, and I'm not going to get my hopes up like I did before. You know my history, you know how difficult it was for me to get pregnant - only once after three IUIs, and three full cycles of IVF - and I was 40 then, not 44. That this has even happened at all is the fluke of the century. Just some freak occurrence of nature, like the universe playing some bad joke on me. That's why I didn't tell you, because even if I was pregnant there's just really no chance. It can't possibly be viable."

"You have no way of knowing that - you haven't even taken a stick test to confirm. You need a blood work-up, beta hCG testing and an ultrasound before we know anything. Since when are you such a pessimist?"

She's been holding onto him as she explained but now she lets go to drag her hands over her face. "Okay, no, _this_ is really why I didn't want you to know. You don't know what it's like to lose a baby. I've lost two. It sucks. But I've got Rachel, and she _is_ enough. This..." She lets her hand drift momentarily over the flat plane between her hip bones before dropping her arm to her side, fist clenched. "This isn't going to happen. So there's no point getting invested. Like you even want a kid? You barely manage babysitting mine."

He doesn't even touch on that last pronouncement. He still has no idea what he thinks about this, and the panic is barely being kept at bay by her surprisingly averse reaction.

"That's it?" he demands.

"That's it."

"You won't even consider -"

"No. House, I can't. I can't get my hopes up again."

"Right."

"Hey, not like I want to be infertile. This is a crappy situation, and you know it isn't what I want. You know that."

"I know that you'll fight for the baby of a complete stranger, but you apparently won't fight for mine."

She looks like she's been struck and a dark part of him is glad because he's still feeling the sting of the body blows he's been taking from her throughout this whole conversation.

And maybe it would have been better her way, if he never suspected a thing - maybe she will lose this pregnancy like she lost the other one. Maybe she could have gone through the blood and pain with him none the wiser. But she doesn't know that's how this will end. There is a chance, however slim, that this baby could be born whole and healthy, and who is this woman he's known for half his life if not the reigning queen of lost causes?

He's not used to her giving up - he has seen her rail against insurmountable odds in the most absurd, hopeless situations. She's letting him down right now and it's honestly pissing him off as much as it is confusing him.

But it doesn't matter. His anger abandons him at the first sign of tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, the words leaving his mouth now like a Pavlovian response.

She nods and sniffles, but doesn't cry. "Me too. It's just... You don't know what it's like. Last time it happened I was... I was so happy, and then... And this time it won't just be my heart that gets broken, you're going to get hurt, too. I didn't want that. God, I should have been more careful with my birth control. I can't believe this has happened."

She's still talking like it's a done deal, an inevitability. He doesn't know how to counter this staunch denial from her.

He holds out an arm and she comes to him, curling against his side, her damp face on his shoulder. He rests his cheek against her hair.

"It'll be okay," he says, under the assumption that this is what a decent boyfriend would say at such a moment.

"I know. We'll get through this." She sighs. "We should go to sleep, it's late. You're going to stay, right?"

"Yeah."

But this isn't over, and he can't imagine that it will, in fact, be okay. Or how they are supposed to get through this. He can't see it, any more than she can see the stunning, terrifying possibility of their baby in her arms.


	2. all your cares

_Author notes: Wow, thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! Special hi to red blood, it is cool to be remembered from back in the day._

* * *

2.

Less than 24 hours later finds House back in Cuddy's bed, this time alone.

She's taking a long time in the bathroom. She does that, of course, being female. He does it sometimes himself although, being male, it's for widely different reasons. Tonight, he suspects she isn't in there exfoliating or plucking, and is instead lingering over the pregnancy test he left for her by the sink.

They haven't spoken about it since last night. She has spent the entire day giving off the strongest Do Not Engage vibes possible, and so far he has made no attempt to breach the wall of silence. But he really needs her to take that test and while she claimed she didn't want to know he has every confidence she won't be able to resist a shiny new test right in front of her just begging to be peed on.

Finally she emerges from the bathroom. The lights go out and in the dark she slides into bed beside him, curling up against his side like always.

There's a minute of silence. He breaks first.

"Come on, really?" he complains.

She snorts against his chest. "You already know what it said."

"So…"

"Yep."

There's another, longer stretch of silence, during which he blinks in the darkness and tries to process.

His girlfriend is pregnant. He has a pregnant girlfriend now. And after spending his entire adult life aiming to avoid this very situation. But then it's always been a weird fact of his relationship with Cuddy that so many of his usual rules for people do not apply to her.

He remembers having a brief scare with Stacy the first year they were together. They'd high-fived in relief when the stick test had been negative, and celebrated by going out and getting very drunk at their favourite scotch bar.

Kids had never been a prospect back then. He'd never imagined they would be. Then he pursued and ultimately secured the affections of a single mother, and things - he - changed. He has reshaped himself around Cuddy and her needs as best he can, and for all his failures in that respect he intends to keep right on doing it.

He just wishes he knew what she needs him to do right now. He knows it is not to offer her a high-five.

She breaks the silence eventually, shifting her cheek against his shoulder as she speaks. "It's so stupid, really. I took so many tests back when I was, you know, trying to do this on purpose. God, what I would have given to see a positive test back then. Of course when I finally did, it turned out to be all for nothing," she finishes on a bitter note.

"Was that the last time you tried with the IVF?"

"Yeah, that was it for me. I - I had to accept it would never happen for me that way. And I did, I accepted it. I took some time to recover and then I started thinking about adoption. And it was the best decision I ever made," she ends firmly, as if daring him to challenge her. Three years later and the whole adoption thing is still a touchy subject for them.

It shouldn't be; he accepted a long time ago that he had been wrong about that. Rachel makes her more consistently happy than anything else ever has or will. He's not such a selfish bastard he can't appreciate the significance of that.

Or indeed the significance of what another child might mean for her - and for him, too, being a part of something that will make her so happy. The very idea secures a powerful foothold in his mind. He can almost imagine Cuddy loving him forever if he manages to give her a baby.

Of course he doesn't relate any of this to her, because he _is_ enough of a selfish bastard that such honesty is usually beyond him.

In the end he doesn't say anything right away, just rubs her back until she relaxes against him. Then he says, "Did you ever think about trying again - to adopt or… you know, other things that sometimes eventuate in a kid?"

"Of course I thought about it." Her reply is even but the question obviously bothers her as she rolls over, turning her back to him. She's still pressed about as close to his side as possible, her head resting on his arm, but the gesture is clear. "I never seriously considered it. Rachel is perfect, she's all I need."

"Didn't mean to imply she wasn't. Sorry."

"It's fine. It'll be fine, House. You really don't have anything to worry about," she says quietly, hugging his arm as he curls it around her.

"I'm not worried," he replies, and it is abundantly clear to him that they are talking about completely different things.

* * *

The next morning he's in Wilson's office, sitting opposite his best friend, who is freaking out.

 _Really_ freaking out; Wilson can't even speak, he's just staring, his eyebrows up at his hairline, his jaw dropped, no sound coming out of his open mouth. House has dropped more than a few verbal bombs on the guy over the years, but only rarely has he actually been stunned silent. Two words was all it took - _Cuddy's pregnant._

House casts his eyes idly around the room while this is happening, patiently waiting for Wilson to get over it so they can actually have the conversation he came here for.

After an absurdly long interval spent gaping stupidly, Wilson shuts his mouth, and the small motion draws House's attention back to him.

"Wait," Wilson says. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"I impregnated my girlfriend. For reals. I'm as surprised as you are."

"No, but seriously, you made a bet to see if you could get me to believe it. How much? I might be willing to let you cut me in."

"Dude, you can ask her. Except don't ask her. I don't want you talking to her about this. She's barely talking to me about it."

"What? Why? I mean... Seriously? She's seriously, _seriously_ pregnant?"

"I mean it. You can't tell anyone about this, and you especially can't tell Cuddy you know. She's freaking out, you're obviously freaking out, and I don't need you freaking her out more."

" _Cuddy's_ freaking out about it."

"She thinks she's going to miscarry. Won't even consider another outcome. And with absolutely no medical evidence to support this prognosis of doom other than -"

"Her entire history with trying to get pregnant in the past?" Wilson has recovered nicely from the shock now, and is back to being the voice of reason. "Come on, she's miscarried before, she must be terrified."

"Which would make sense if she'd made a repeat habit of miscarriage, but she only ever got pregnant _once_. One time isn't statistically relevant, it's certainly not enough to freak out over. And she is majorly freaking out. Doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to run any tests to actually check if there's anything to worry about. She's being irrational."

Wilson looks dubious. "Meanwhile, you're... _not_ freaking out?"

He shrugs. "I can't. Not till she cuts it out and starts acting like Cuddy again."

"Okay, well, as long as she's pregnant and afraid of losing it, that's unlikely to happen. And wait, _how_ did it even happen? Aren't you guys... doctors? As in, aware of the existence of contraception?"

"She's on the pill." He shrugs. "These things happen."

"Huh."

"Or I'm just that good."

"Huh. You're _really_ not freaking out?"

"Later. Right now I need to go search her office for prenatal vitamins to see if she's already taking them on the sly. If not, then I need to start planting them in her food on the sly. What do you think the odds of me getting a blood sample out of her are?"

"On the sly?"

"Well, obviously. Can't just ask her. She's _freaking out_. Never mind, I'll make it work. She is a pretty heavy sleeper - it comes in handy in all sorts of situations. Boy, being the responsible one in this relationship is hard work."

House starts to get up and Wilson panics. "Wait, what do I say if I see Cuddy?"

"You know nothing," he orders, moving to the door.

"She'll know that I know! She knows you tell me everything."

"So just nod and smile no matter what she says. You know, like you always do."

Wilson narrows his eyes at that. "You have no idea how my friendship with her works, do you?"

"Nope, no idea. Don't really want one. I assume it involves hair-braiding and syncing your cycles. Careful, you might be ovulating too."

Wilson rolls his eyes, reaching the end of his tolerance. "Actually, we mostly just talk about how annoying you are."

"You can base an entire friendship on that?"

"Going on for about a decade now. Amazing, isn't it? We never seem to run out of things to say."

"You should be thanking me. Think how many awkward silences you'd have to fill if it weren't for me."

"House." Wilson drops the banter suddenly. "I'm glad you're not freaking out about this. But really, are you... okay?"

He pauses at the threshold with the door open, on the verge of escape, which is likely why he's able to admit this. "I'm not okay. She's having my kid and it's making her miserable. She wants to pretend it isn't happening. If I freaked out... I would go all the way. So I'm not."

"Give her time. Yeah, she might lose the pregnancy, or she might not, either way what she's going through right now won't last. With any luck, she'll get to the part where she can relax and be happy about it. Just ride it out for now. Without," he quickly adds, "doing anything so crazy she breaks up with you."

"So you're saying I _shouldn't_ steal blood from her in her sleep."

Wilson snorts. "I wish I thought you were kidding about that."

* * *

"Okay." Cuddy's fork drops to the table in the middle of dinner. "What did you dose me with?"

"What are you talking about about?"

"My food tastes gritty."

He pastes an innocent look on his face. Inwardly he curses both how big the pills are and how difficult it is to properly doctor a plate of food when there is a hungry toddler and her all-too-canny mother bugging him every two minutes.

"So does mine. It's a new recipe, I think it's a winner," he says.

"There is a suspicious white powder on this noodle."

"Parmesan."

"And you came over _suspiciously_ early today and insisted on making dinner."

Obviously there's little point arguing with her now she's found him out, but he does anyway, mostly for fun. "I make you dinner all the time," he says, feigning hurt.

"But you kept shooing me out of the kitchen and usually you love me helping you because it means you get to tell me what to do."

"Or I just enjoy the pleasure of your company."

"Not tonight you didn't. Which is suspicious. Like the powder you coated my food with. So what, am I gonna wake up in a motel room in Reno with a dead hooker next to me?"

"I know I'm a crappy boyfriend but you're pregnant, you think I'm going to dose you with something in your delicate condition? That could be dangerous."

"If it served your own nefarious purposes? Wouldn't put it past you. And hey, don't talk about that in front of you know who." She tilts her head meaningfully in Rachel's direction. The small girl is as always watching the interplay at the table with interest, in between stuffing tomato-and-cheese-covered seashells in her tomato-and-cheese-covered mouth. "You know she repeats everything she hears. She decides to ask Nanna what 'preg-' uh, what the P-word means, you can be sure Nanna will figure out what's going on in five seconds flat and we will never get a moment's peace."

House nods. "Fine." He lets his own fork drop and gets up from the table.

"Where are you going?" she asks as he makes his way into the kitchen.

"I've got another P-word for you," he replies, opening the drawer where he'd stashed the pill bottle while making dinner. He limps back to the dining table and sets it down by her plate.

She picks up the bottle. "Prenatal vitamins."

"Hey, not in front of little ears."

Cuddy sighs, sitting back in her chair, and he knows she is gearing up for another round of the same conversation they've had the last two nights running, which could not be a less interesting prospect for him right now.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," he says quickly, forestalling whatever dour pronouncement on the state of her uterus she is about to make. "Neither do I. But I feel I should inform you that there will be more food with an interesting new texture in your future, in case there were any doubts about that."

She holds up a hand in surrender. "Okay, whatever. I will take the vitamins." To prove it, she opens the bottle and tips one out, swallowing it with a sip from her water glass. Then she picks up her plate, reaches over the table, and swaps it for his. "And you can enjoy this suspiciously gritty meal."

"It's two pills a day."

"Shut up."

There's a giggle from the one person in the room who has yet to contribute to the conversation. She points her fork at him. "House, shut up."

"You see?" Cuddy says, glaring at him as she reaches over to wipe at Rachel's face with a napkin.

He rolls his eyes. Of course this is his fault.

Still, as he listens to Cuddy attempt to explain why Rachel shouldn't say naughty words even when grown-ups sometimes do, he is content. He just chews his gritty pasta-with-extra-folic-acid, satisfied for now that this round of Cuddy v. P-word has turned out in favour of the P.


	3. forget your troubles

3\. forget your troubles

House wakes up in the morning with a foot lodged in his armpit.

It would be a confusing situation for anyone, except that he has more than enough prior experience telling him exactly what is going on: Rachel is in bed with them again.

It happens at regular intervals to the point that he's almost grown used to spending the night with two other people - and not in the fun way. The truth is, he wouldn't even mind if she just climbed in quietly on Cuddy's side, went straight to sleep, and stayed that way. But sharing a bed with a toddler, House has come to understand, is in no way an orderly or peaceful affair.

Oh, the kid always starts out cuddled up all sweet and innocent with her mother, but it never lasts. She squirms and fidgets, babbles to herself, moves around, burrows in between him and Cuddy, gets all up in his personal space without a care in the world while sending elbows, knees and feet flying out at random into the soft tissue of anyone within range. And just generally disrupts any hope he has of getting a decent night's sleep.

And Cuddy - the only one who can make the executive decision necessary to tote the kid back to her own room - tends to just put up with it. That is, when she doesn't sleep right through the entire ordeal.

On this morning when the alarm goes off he and Cuddy are pushed right to opposite sides of the mattress while Rachel sleeps between them. Horizontally. Her face is smushed against Cuddy's stomach and her feet are digging into House's ribs. She's currently taking up a good two thirds of the bed - an impressive feat for someone who barely reaches his knees.

This is not a good start to the day. Cuddy, however, is all smiles after turning off the alarm.

"Well, good morning, baby."

Unfortunately, she is not speaking to him.

He lies there blinking slowly, wanting to roll over and go right back to sleep, while beside him Cuddy indulges in a sleepy cuddling session with Rachel. He tries not to be bitter that it's been several days now since she treatedhim to a grown-up-style cuddling session first thing in the morning.

Rachel starts giggling as her mother drops kisses all over her face, and then the squirming starts back up as he had known it would. The little feet kick and flex as she wriggles in delight like an over-excited puppy, and after she gets in a good jab at his spleen, House finally grabs the offending extremities and firmly aims them away from him down the bed.

"Sure it's okay for you," he says as he meets Cuddy's eye. "You got the cute end."

She laughs softly. "Okay, come on sweetie, time to get up." When she sits up Rachel latches on, trying to pull her back down.

"No, mama sleep now."

"Mama's getting up, you're still sleepy?" Rachel nods. "Okay, then let's take you back to your bed. Come on, I'll carry you."

"No, wanna stay here with you."

"Shh, Rachel it's too early for arguing. If you want to go back to sleep, then I will take you to your bed."

"No. Wanna stay."

"Just leave her here," he grumbles. The whining is worse than being stuck here with the wriggling menace.

"Do you want to stay with House?" Cuddy asks, and Rachel gives him a considering look. He's the clear second choice here, but apparently realising her mother isn't going to be persuaded to stick around no matter the amount of whining, she nods.

Cuddy looks to him and he makes a face, burrowing his head into the pillow. "Go do your damn yoga."

"Damn yoga," Rachel echoes his words, having officially switched allegiances.

Cuddy looks askance at her and draws in a breath to protest the language but he cuts her off. "It's too early for arguing," he reminds her.

He knows he sounds testy, but what does she expect at 6.00am?

Apparently, not much. She holds up her hands in defeat. "Okay, I guess everyone's grouchy this morning except me. I will leave you to it." She kisses Rachel on the head and then leans over to do the same for him. At the last moment she detours from his forehead and drops a quick, teasing kiss on his lips instead.

His mood lifts a little because he's easy like that. She quietly grabs her workout clothes and ducks out of the room. He hears the bathroom door close down the hall. He exchanges a look with Rachel. "Well thank god she's gone, now we can finally get some sleep around here."

"Yeah," she nods emphatically, as if the little turncoat wasn't just clinging to Cuddy like a creeping fungus.

But if she's in such an agreeable mood, he tries pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes tight in the hopes she'll match him in this, too.

Sleep tugs at him soon enough. Before succumbing he opens an eye to peer suspiciously at the small form in bed beside him, unable to trust the sudden peace that has fallen over the room. But for once he and Rachel seem to be of a mind; she might actually have beaten him to the punch. A perverse part of him - the part that really just can't resist making things more difficult for himself - wants to poke her and check that she's not faking it.

He's too tired to play the masochist for now, though, and closes his eyes and quickly dozes off. Only to jolt awake again what feels like just a few minutes later with the eerie feeling he's being watched. A glance at his watch on the nightstand tells him it has actually been an entire twenty-five minutes. He looks back over his shoulder and confirms his other suspicion.

Rachel is now perched on her knees hovering over him, and she greets him with a grin once she realises she has his attention.

"What?" he demands, and then decides instantly he doesn't care. "Go back to sleep."

"I have to potty."

"Then go."

"The floor's cold on my feet." She holds out her arms in a wordless command to be picked up and carried.

"Too bad." He does pick her up, but only to heave her over his body and deposit her on the cold, unforgiving floorboards beside the bed.

He doesn't think he sets her down roughly, he certainly doesn't intend to - and maybe she just isn't expecting to be moved so quickly - either way, as soon as he lets her go her legs give out and she sits down hard on her ass. She stares up at him with wide eyes, seeming more startled than hurt. He watches her warily for a few seconds but she doesn't start to cry, just gives him a reproachful look, small forehead crinkling as she frowns at him.

He quashes the faint stirring of guilt. She's fine. Besides, he's well accustomed to displeasing Cuddy women; distraction and/or avoidance is key.

"Don't you have to pee? Go on, better hurry, or it'll get stuck up there."

She jumps up and scampers off and he only wishes the more senior Cuddys he knows were that gullible.

His sigh fills the silence once she's gone. Heaviness drags at his eyelids once more but now that he has the bed to himself his mind suddenly proves itself to be the biggest obstacle keeping him from another few hours sleep.

There's an image in his head he can't seem to dispel:

Another morning just like this, only three has somehow become four. There's another small, dark-haired child tucked under the covers beside Rachel, kicking and whining, disturbing his sleep, hogging the covers and Cuddy's attention.

"We're going to need a bigger bed," he mutters, rolls over, and tries to put it all out of his mind for now.

* * *

Around 11.00am House goes to see Cuddy in her office. By this time of the morning House has been at work for just over an hour while Cuddy has been in since before 8. He generally likes to keep himself familiarised with her schedule on a day to day basis - a habit he assumes she now finds romantic rather than creepy and invasive like back in the sad old days of non-couple-hood.

The point is, he is able to time his arrival in her office just as she is finishing a trying video conference with people he knows she doesn't like. The theory being she will now be extra glad to see him in comparison. And if she isn't, he has at least not come empty-handed.

"You were up early this morning," he says as he enters, carefully holding both cups in one hand while the other manages both cane and the door. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up."

"Hey." She smiles as she greets him, but then sits back and tries to conceal a look of dismay when she sees the to-go cups he's carrying. "Oh, that's sweet of you but, um, no thanks. Why don't you give it to Wilson instead? He's probably bought you a few thousand cups of coffee over the years, so he might faint from shock but once he comes to he'll really appreciate it."

He comes around the desk and props himself against the edge, looking down at her. "Sorry, I can't give Wilson this coffee. Besides the fact it would set a dangerous precedent in our relationship, this is actually tea. Lemon and ginseng."

"Oh." She finally reaches for the proffered cup. "Mmm, this smells good."

"This doesn't." He waves his own cup, which actually does contain coffee, under her nose and she recoils, turning her face away. "Thought so."

"Ugh." She looks back up at him sheepishly. "I just can't stand it at the moment. You know how many coffee carts there are on campus? How many people walk around with coffee cups and coffee breath like they've been bathing in the stuff? I've never noticed it before, it's disgusting."

"Oh, now don't you listen to the mean lady," he croons to his triple-shot espresso as he gets to his feet, "you're the sweet, heavenly elixir of the gods and everyone knows it. Now you just wait for daddy out here." While he speaks he heads across her office and opens the door. He takes two steps over to Cuddy's assistant's desk and puts the precious coffee cup down while the assistant watches him questioningly. "Do not touch it," he orders, before going back inside and closing the door.

"You didn't have to do that," Cuddy says.

"You looked like you were about to barf. You've got plenty of barfing to come, no need to tempt your gag reflex for no reason."

"Well, the tea is nice, thank you."

"So. Morning sickness. Looking forward to that, I'll bet."

"Some women don't get any."

"Strong smells are already enough to turn you a fetching shade of green. It'll start up for reals soon enough."

"Maybe."

"Maybe. It's all up in the air, isn't it? Especially since -"

"House."

"Since we don't really know anything right now. Morning sickness is triggered by rising hormone levels, and who can say what your hormones are doing? Not like there's a simple way to find out, say perhaps some kind of test, involving blood, maybe even under the professional supervision of an OBGYN… Or not. Don't know where I come up with these crazy ideas."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm five minutes pregnant, House, you can't even ultrasound this early. I'm going to wait a few weeks and, uh, then we'll see about making an appointment. Okay?"

She wants him to drop it, clearly. She's getting pissier the more often he pushes her about this stuff, but he doesn't really know any other way to handle things. Wilson told him to give her time to adjust but he's not sure he's capable of doing that, not when they don't have all the information. He needs to _know_.

But for now, right this second, he can drop it, if only so he can reform a better strategy of attack later. He sighs and nods. She apparently accepts this and relaxes, taking a sip of tea.

He glances behind him, out through the glass-panelled doors. "That kid better not be drinking my coffee," he says.

"He's not going to touch anything of yours. You've got him good and scared." This pleases him to hear and she rolls her eyes when she sees him smile, but eventually smiles back. "Listen, I'm sorry about Rachel this morning."

"What about her?"

She reaches up and rubs his arm. "You have enough trouble getting a full night's sleep without her bugging you."

"Oh. It's fine." He shrugs. "If it was every night I'd be lodging a formal protest, but it's only every now and then - it's fine."

"Okay. Anyway I'm really just sorry because I would much rather have skipped yoga and spent the morning in bed with you, instead. _Without_ our little visitor." Her smiles grows, taking on a playful edge.

"Well, much as I enjoyed the company of Little Miss Squirms-a-lot, gotta admit, a private session with Dr Tight-and-hot would have been my first choice, too."

Her nose wrinkles in amusement. Then she stands up, peering cautiously out the doors. "Well you should expect a house-call tonight," she says, and having apparently deemed the coast to be clear she steps between his knees and presses a warm kiss to his lips.

"Is sex all you ever think about?" he complains, squeezing her waist in his hands to hold her right where she is. "Some of us real doctors have work to do around here, you know."

She kisses him again. "Mmm, well I can't help it, just thinking about you actually working is such a turn on. Just imagine," she leans in close to speak his ear, "what depths of carnal depravity I might be driven to if you actually delivered some of your paperwork on time."

He pulls back and wags a finger at her. "See, you almost had me. But now you're going to send me back to my office with an erection and so I'm forced to believe you're nothing but a big tease."

"Damn it. Those billing forms were so close I could taste them."

"Better luck next time."

He leaves her with one last kiss, making it a good one as he slides a hand down to her ass and presses her up against him, ensuring she is made well aware that he was only half-kidding about the erection.

* * *

The little tea party in Cuddy's office leaves him with more than a cold cup of coffee and an awkward semi. It also gives him an idea. His mission to make Cuddy handle this pregnancy like the annoyingly idealistic, driven, control-freak of a doctor he knows her to be is about to be put into effect, employing his most diabolical tactic yet.

"I can't have sex with you," he says that night when they're alone together in bed.

She's already down to her panties at this point, straddling his lap. At his unexpected announcement she folds her arms over her chest, obscuring her breasts - and he almost abandons the entire plan based on that alone.

"What? Why not?" she says.

"I don't feel comfortable having sex with you until you've got the all-clear from your OBGYN."

"You're kidding me."

He shrugs. He kind of wishes he was, but he actually isn't.

This will be the fourth night in a row they haven't had sex. They've gone longer, but not all that often. Their sex life is active to say the least - mostly because Cuddy has a high sex drive that he likes to encourage as much as physically possible for a man his age. Even now, after having been together almost a year, they still do it _a lot_.

He can certainly tell she wants to do it right now and will not take kindly to being refused in such a manner. That's kind of the point.

"What is your problem?" she says.

"You should see a doctor. Gomez does your paps, she'll do. Go see her. Tomorrow. Then, if she gives the all clear, we can resume activities as normal - it's the responsible thing to do."

She drags her hands down her face. "You are killing me with this."

He puts his hands on her, but only to gently but firmly push her off of him. "Good night." He lies down with a great deal of resolution.

"You are not going to sleep right now," she says.

"Well I am not having sex with you," he replies.

"You're right, we're not having sex, we're having an argument. It's gonna be a big one."

He looks over his shoulder at her, sitting there half-naked with murderous eyes. "You know, in your condition, high blood pressure -"

"Shut up!" She shifts to the side of the bed, movements jerky with irritation as she grabs her robe from the end of the bed and shrugs it on. She sits there not looking at him.

He sits up again, because if she wants to fight, then he will fight. He's determined to get her to see reason about this. "You obviously don't want to listen to my opinion. Fine, then go consult a lady doctor about your lady problem. I'm cool with it, why aren't you?"

She rounds on him. "Because I'mnot ready! It could already be over and I'm not ready to deal with that," she chokes out, then takes a breath to calm herself. "Besides, there's no point this early anyway, you know that. If there's something wrong... then there's nothing to be done. You're a big freakin' genius doctor so I know that you do know that."

"You have risk factors. Early monitoring of your hormones makes sense. You're an endocrinologist so _you_ must know that, even if you're not a big freaking genius doctor like some of us in the room."

"God, why are you obsessing about this?"

"Because you're not!"

"I am just trying to maintain a little sanity here. You are making it kinda difficult." She must see some hint of confirmation on his face because she throws up her hands. "Of course that's the plan. Drive me crazy. Sure, why not?"

"Just because you know about it, doesn't mean it won't work."

She holds up a hand. "Ugh. I don't even want to have sex with you anymore." She gets under the covers and flops down on her side, her back to him.

"Great. Me either." He lies down next to her.

She shoots him a look over her shoulder. "Yes you do."

Of course he does. "You can't prove it," he says.

She rolls over, sliding closer. "Pretty sure I could prove it."

"Nice try. Keep your hands to yourself."

"You're going to hold your penis hostage till I make a pointless visit to my gynaecologist."

He decides to throw her a bone. "If you agreed to go right now, I would trust you to keep your word and have as much sex with you as you would like."

She shrugs. "I'll make an appointment."

"You're lying. No deal."

"You're an asshole."

She's seriously pissed at him now. It's the most emotion he's seen from her in days and while he has to swallow the urge to duck for cover he is also encouraged to see it. Cuddy's fury invigorates and motivates her like little else.

If he survives the next five minutes, he thinks things might be looking up.

"I'd like to point out that breaking up with someone for not having sex with you is what a certain high school boyfriend did to a young, innocent Lisa Cuddy and it was not cool at all."

"I am going to sleep," she says through gritted teeth, not at all amused.

He can't help thinking it really is a shame about the sex.

She looks beyond hot right now. Terrifying, but in a really hot way. His balls don't know whether to shrink up into his chest cavity or load up for a twelve-gun salute.

Before he does something stupid like fold completely and jump her, he rolls over and yanks the covers over his head. "Good night!"

She turns off the lamp and yanks the covers towards her side of the bed. He's not sure how long the sheer frustration - sexual and otherwise - keeps her awake, but for him it is a long time before sleep comes.

* * *

He goes down on her first thing in the morning.

He doesn't even really mean to, except that she turns to him and kisses him right after the alarm goes off and in the disorientation of 6.00am he's on top of her with his hand down her shorts before he even really registers what's happening.

So he goes down on her. It's a conciliatory gesture of sorts, getting her off - on demand no less - and in a way she can hardly complain about. Oral sex for greater justice.

She does complain, however, when he drags himself out of bed while she's still coming down from her orgasm. He leaves her there, legs still splayed out, her juices coating his chin, and hobbles gingerly into the bathroom for a long, private shower.

"Seriously?" she calls after him. He doesn't respond.

* * *

It's later, at work, that the argument picks up again. Or so he thinks. She comes to his office and sits across the desk from him and the heat in her gaze has him mentally girding his loins.

He's not sure which of them is more surprised when she suddenly grins and shakes her head.

Then she rolls her eyes. She's _trying_ to be mad at him, he can tell, but she's not managing it.

"You're an idiot," she says after abandoning her internal struggle. "How long do you honestly think you can go without sex?"

"Longer than you."

Her eyebrows go up in disbelief. "How was your shower this morning?"

"Quick."

"You were in there almost thirty minutes."

"I actually showered twice."

She laughs and he joins her, ducking his head as he huffs in amusement.

"All right, I'll go see my lady doctor." He perks right up at the realisation that she is caving to his demands, but she holds up a hand, looking serious. All of a sudden the light mood is gone. "I'm only doing this because… the longer we play these games, the more you'll care about the outcome. I'm worried that you're… you're already getting so involved. And you're dragging me along with you." She shakes her head. "I'll do this and you'll back off, right?"

"Today? See her this afternoon. It's Friday, you'll have to wait till next week otherwise."

"Fine. Fine, I will talk to Andy, ask if she has time to see me today."

"Pretty sure she will, boss."

Immediately suspicious, she points a warning finger. "Leave her alone."

"Sure, but if she happens to be hanging out in the cafeteria or something while you're worrying yourself sick about miscarrying instead of, I don't know, maybe skipping lunch this one time to do her boss a favour - and if _I_ happen to see her totally by chance while out and about, I'm just saying, that seems like fate _wants_ me to -"

"Do not strong-arm my gynaecologist, House. That whole department hates you enough."

"Let's be honest, all of the departments kind of hate me. Surgical kind of wins the sweepstakes by sheer numbers, but yeah, they all pretty much hate the House."

She sighs and plays along as they drift away from the subject at hand. "Not all of them. For some reason ortho has nothing but nice things to say about you. I've never understood why."

"Because broken bones are the mud pies of the medical playground," he says. She looks perplexed and he happily elaborates. "My department's over here doing backflips on the monkey bars - hell we're building our own monkey bars superior to all the other kids' monkey bars - meanwhile those ortho guys are sitting on their asses in the dirt, drooling on themselves. They're idiots, which wouldn't be relevant, most doctors are idiots, but unlike almost all the other idiots in this hospital, I've never shown up the ortho guys for being idiots. Because my patients have actual serious problems that no one is ever going to mistake for something that can be fixed with wet plaster. The mud pie slingers and the monkey bar all-stars don't mix. That's why they don't hate me," he concludes. He pauses for effect before adding, "That, and a certain long-standing Orthopaedics attending has a thing for me."

She blinks at that. "You mean... Dr Foss? Huh."

"Jealous?"

"No. You think every woman you meet has a thing for you. Doesn't make it true."

"It was true in at least one recent case I can think of."

She shrugs. "Broken clock is right twice a day."

While she's still smirking at her own quip, he abandons their conversational detour altogether.

"Thank you. You know, for doing what any rational woman would do in your situation _without_ having to be blackmailed into it." He pauses and then adds, "My penis also thanks you."

"Your penis better start thinking about how to make last night up to me."

"It has pretty much thought of nothing else all morning."

"Even before I let the terrorists win?"

"Either way. Always. That's all it ever thinks about. We are talking about my penis here."

"Yep, we are still talking about it. And now I am going."

"When you see your pal Dr Gomez, make sure you explain to her how extremely virile and energetic I am in the sack. Spare no detail. She should have all the information when making a call about our sexual activity. I'm talking frequency, duration, circumference, proportion - hey, no need to talk me up, we both know the real deal is impressive enough!"

She's already out the door. He smiles watching her go.

* * *

That night, after Cuddy has consulted with an actual registered OBGYN they go right back to not talking about it.

It's Friday night, Rachel is with Arlene, and instead of talking about anything remotely important they have noisy sex on the couch and then eat take-out, naked, while watching an R-rated movie filled with gratuitous violence because the only child present is the one currently gestating. And these days they have to get their kicks while they can.


End file.
